


lighthouse

by minorchord



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Drarry, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter Universe, M/M, draco x harry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minorchord/pseuds/minorchord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your light will shine for someone new, and I will die, lost at sea, trying to forget you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lighthouse

_Why did we open this door so carelessly and dirty up the carpet?  
We should have at least removed our shoes before ruining each other._

 

Draco walked. He wore the soles thin on his loafers, and wore his ribs thin with the consistent beating of his heart. It always kept going, ticking away the useless minutes of his life as he walked to nowhere. There were times when he wished it would quit and leave him laying in the middle of nowhere. Then there would be no heart left to measure the wasted time and to ache in his chest when he thought of his many mistakes.

Draco regretted as much as he walked. He thought of those who had fallen because of his wrongdoings, wishing sometimes that he could exchange his life for theirs. It would be a worthwhile trade. He had been given responsibilities that he could not handle. He had failed life before life had a chance to fail him. 

This was what Draco faced when he stopped walking. So he pushed forward, trying to outpace the darkness following him. It would always catch up to him, but he could prolong the meeting if he just kept going.

The last time he had stopped walking ended in a heartache so profound, he nearly expected others to feel it from him. He held so much hurt that it stained the inside of him black. It was the heaviest burden he’d ever carried, and he knew he deserved it. There was no cure, he would have to suffer terminally. He knew that when he had sown bad seeds, he’d reap a shitty harvest. The shit just kept coming and coming until he was buried in self-hatred. Why did he ever try to plant anything in the first place? Why did he always make a fool of himself with his own feelings, and with others’ feelings?

These are the things that Draco Malfoy would be shackled with for life. He carried himself tall, but inside he was doubled over with the weight of his regrets.

So he would keep walking, keep pushing, keep outrunning the darkness every day until it caught up with him. He would remember the sunshine but never feel it, and expect the pain instead. If anything, he was grateful for the consistency.

 

**1 year prior**

 

Draco hadn’t always been so negative. He’d never been positive, but he’d always held a small amount of hope that things could be improve. His job at the Ministry was beyond boring. It gave him plenty of time to dwell on the past and worry about the future. 

He liked working. It was better than sitting around the Manor listening to his mother fuss over decorations and worry whether they’d have enough money to refurbish the fireplace. After all, it had been a few years, wasn’t it due? Draco didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care. There were wars being fought and people dying in other parts of the world. That’s what he told himself when he began to feel sorry.

He was particularly sour on this date, since he’d been asked to shuffle papers and collect meaningless data while the bosses sat in a meeting and discussed Quidditch. Business included plenty of Quidditch. When they were bored of talking about Quidditch, which was hardly ever, they’d talk about business. The inefficiency of their office was maddening. Draco sometimes fantasized about throwing the door open and taking charge. They’d at least accomplish something that way. 

Things were becoming repetitive enough to numb his mind a bit when a visitor showed up, asking to be directed to the boss’s office. Draco didn’t even look up, just pointed toward the meeting room and told the visitor to wait.

“Malfoy, I expected better manners from you,” the person said.

Draco knew that voice, now. He knew it so well, he’d be able to pick it out of a crowd when it pronounced his surname like that. He had memorized the tones and inflections that this voice used to weave in and out of sentences. He knew the exact timbre that indicated sarcasm. 

This was sarcasm. And that voice belonged to Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and Saved the Universe. The boy who lived and didn’t shake Draco Malfoy’s hand so many years ago.

“Potter, I apologize, but I am occupied with this paperwork. Mr. Griggs is in a meeting currently,” Draco said curtly. He already felt uncomfortable, like he was balancing on a tightrope.

“It’s quite all right. I have been shuffling papers myself as well, unfortunately. Mr. Griggs requested me around three to discuss a legal matter,” Harry said, straightening the collar of his shirt as if to make himself feel more important. 

“That sounds delightful,” Draco said, careful of his expression. 

“Oh, I’m sure it will be a barrel of laughs,” Harry replied, smiling. He had the whitest teeth Draco had ever seen. He looked down as if to shield his eyes from them.

“Griggs is a regular comedian,” Draco mused, still looking at his papers and pretending to be busy again. Harry made a sympathetic noise, then took his cue to move to Mr. Griggs’ office and wait for him there. 

Draco felt like he were breathing for the first time in five minutes when Harry was finally out of sight. It was still so difficult to speak to him. He felt like Harry was constantly trying to open him up when they spoke. It had been a year or two since they had seen each other, but Draco never noticed the time difference. He would probably spend the next year prying apart each sentence spoken and each movement of Harry’s face. He’d think about the body language and wonder what was conveyed. Then he’d scold himself for being too lax about his own cues.

Draco finally returned to his previous work rhythm, organizing documents and copying things that needed to be duplicated for the boss’s records. He vaguely remembered Mr. Griggs ending the meeting and stepping into his office. The door shut after that, so Draco could finally relax.

He measured an hour and five minutes before Harry came back out. Harry stopped at Draco’s desk once more. Draco straightened his shoulders. 

“There’s a new pub opening just a few blocks away,” Harry said. Draco didn’t know what this should mean to him.

“And?” he asked.

“I will be there at seven Friday night to buy you a drink,” Harry answered. Then he was gone, leaving Draco to stare quizzically at the back of him before he vanished from sight. 

Draco already knew he’d be going, no matter how much he wished he could decline. It would be exhausting to monitor himself all evening and keep up the appearance of indifference. He already knew what he would wear, but also knew it would be inadequate. He prepared himself to be thoroughly disappointed.

Yet he still anticipated Friday, which came quickly. He was anxious, though he hid it under the many layers he’d built over his emotions. He felt his heart beating out of control when work ended on Friday, and struggled with his hair and buttons on his shirt for too long because his hands were unsteady.

The new pub was small and packed. Draco arrived promptly at 6:45 to choose the table and reestablish his calm demeanor. He picked one where lighting might obscure his face from time to time, just in case any unwanted expressions got through the barrier.

Harry was late at 7:15, and Draco had already downed a glass of brandy, and had ordered a whiskey for Harry. He knew that was what Harry wanted. He hoped Harry didn’t ask how he knew this.

“Sorry for my tardiness,” Harry said, sitting across from him and removing his jacket. He wore a grey collared shirt that looked expensive and fit perfectly. Even the buttons looked polished, though Draco knew this was just how Harry was. Never a hair out of place, except for the cowlick on the back of his head that couldn’t behave even in a world full of magic. He figured Harry kept it that way on purpose.

“Well, as a punishment, I ordered your first drink for you. Now you’re obligated to finish it,” Draco said, though he already knew it wasn’t a punishment.

Harry tossed the entire drink back in less than a minute. “Whiskey is my favorite drink. Well done.”

Draco nodded, glad for the lighting for fear that he might be smug. He’d remembered this from the last time they met, and the time before that. But it has been a few years since that first pub visit, and he didn’t want to give Harry any ideas.

“So,” Harry prefaced, leaning on his elbows and looking at Draco. “How have you been? It’s been a year, hasn’t it?”

Draco was more tense now than before, since Harry was leaning in his direction. There was a faint, familiar smell of peppermint. 

“I haven’t changed much, even in a year. You?” Draco asked, keeping his statements vague and his body language neutral, leaning one elbow on the table and placing a hand on his knee to keep it from bobbing up and down.

“I don’t agree with you. You seem different every time I see you,” Harry said, leaning forward even more to scrutinize Draco more accurately. “Is that a wrinkle? A gray hair?” he chided.

“I think you’re looking in the mirror,” Draco joked, and Harry laughed. 

“Sometimes it feels like I’m aging rapidly. Chasing around wild magical animals and people who can’t obey the law is tiring,” Harry said, smiling as he complained about his job. Draco knew Harry enjoyed every moment of it, even the boring parts. Harry would whistle while doing paperwork. He was that type of person, where Draco was strictly opposite.

“I hear a lot about it in my department,” Draco said, leaning back now to escape Harry’s focus.

“Speaking of that, your boss speaks highly of you. I would even say for you to expect a promotion soon,” Harry said, flashing that obnoxiously bright smile at Draco once. Could a person have teeth that were too clean? It had to be unhealthy, Draco reasoned. Harry probably enticed thieves with that smile, they had to think someone was shining light on a diamond.

“I haven’t heard anything,” Draco said, shrugging. A promotion was desired, of course, but he didn’t get caught up in excitement and certainly didn’t give credit to rumors.

“Well, it isn’t for me to say. It just appeared that way. He told me that you are quite a busy man,” Harry said. The prying was beginning, and it always went this way. They danced around subjects concerning Draco’s life until Harry grew bored of vague answers. Then he would talk about himself. Draco wished they’d just skip to that part and stop wasting time.

“I am busy. But it’s not anything worth discussing, more on the mundane side than anything,” Draco said, trying to discourage anymore questions.

“You always say that,” Harry said, and they were back into the same rhythm they’d established years ago. Harry was much more relaxed now, and was giving Draco that smirk he never could quite read. It looked like Harry was trying to convey something with his eyes, but the message never translated correctly.

“I’m a man of habit.” 

“Good, then you won’t mind another brandy,” Harry said, slapping a hand on the table and rising to gather two more drinks.

Draco watched him at the bar, noting how easy it was for Harry to strike conversation with strangers. Not many people were strangers to Harry, since they already knew who he was. But this was a new establishment, and the man didn’t appear to know Harry well yet. By the time the drinks were on the counter, Harry had the man laughing in earnest.  
“You need at least two or three more of these,” Harry said, pushing the drink toward Draco. “You never relax.”

Draco sipped his drink, trying to figure out an appropriate response. Harry only saw him at his most tense. Harry’s presence alone was enough to put him on the edge of his chair, and then there were conversations to navigate.

“Relaxing leaves room for error,” Draco said. 

“I want you to make an error,” Harry said, smirking again. He was sitting back in his chair as if inviting Draco to do something. Draco wasn’t sure what it was.

“You never know,” Draco said, and he knew he was right. Harry would eventually catch him off guard, and then he’d make the error. Harry didn’t have any idea what he was inviting here. Draco’s errors were rarely inconsequential.

“I’m not here to play cat and mouse. I need to know something,” Harry said, leaning forward once more. 

“What do you need to know?” Draco asked. His throat went dry immediately. Harry didn’t usually preface his questions.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Harry asked.

The silence hung between them as Draco tried to process what on earth Harry wanted. Seeing anyone in what way? Romantically? He wasn’t dating, nor was he sleeping with anyone. He hadn’t in so long, he couldn’t even remember the last time very well.

“Not in quite a while,” Draco finally answered, supposing this was enough to answer the question. “Why?”

Harry’s face looked a bit pink now. “Curiosity, I suppose,” he answered.

Silence fell again, and they both finished their drinks. The pub was loud around them, but Draco couldn’t really hear anything over his own thoughts. 

“I do have an interesting bit from the field today,” Harry began, then he started telling a story. Draco relaxed once more. This is how he preferred their pub meetings, Harry doing all the talking and asking minimal questions. He enjoyed hearing Harry talk about himself, observing his gestures and the way he ran a hand over his head when he forgot something for a moment. Harry talked with his hands, and to Draco, it was enthralling. The man could tell a story.

The rest of their meeting went as such, with Draco adding small bits at the end of Harry’s stories with his reactions. It went for a good hour before Harry reached for his coat again.

“I’m glad we came out,” Harry said. Draco nodded.

“I would like you to meet me again next Friday.”

Draco’s knee began to bounce, and his hand had no control over it anymore. That marked two unexpected occurrences at this meeting. Draco was losing the ability to hide his expressions. Harry shouldn’t have been deviating so much from the norm. It was disconcerting.

“I suppose we could do that,” he heard himself say, realizing he’d spoken without even thinking it through. He really should have declined. It was hard enough to handle a meeting once every year, but twice in two weeks? Draco already suspected he’d lose sleep over it.

“Good,” Harry said. They made their way to the door, and Harry insisted on holding it for Draco. They fussed over this for a moment before Draco acquiesced. Harry was all over the place. 

They stood for a moment outside, looking at each other. He wasn’t sure whether to say goodbye or not.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you,” Harry said, squeezing Draco’s shoulder once. Then he was gone.

Draco’s shoulder burned through his jacket. Harry hadn’t touched him once in all of their meetings. He wondered if the job had finally begun to eat at Harry’s brain. He’d always been so impulsive, and Draco suspected he’d finally gone insane. 

He told himself he’d think no more of it before apparating outside of the Manor’s gates. Truthfully, he’d think of it all night until he couldn’t think anymore out of exhaustion.

*

That week went by so slowly, Draco had no choice but to focus on Friday and try to make the best of it. Mr. Griggs had placed a huge stack of paperwork on his desk for him to sort, and Draco had been meticulous about it. He was meticulous about everything, as well as deliberate. He could be quick if it were called for, but preferred to take his time. He was more tired than ever, so this made things even slower as he tried to focus on his job instead of Harry’s strange behavior the previous Friday.

Harry began appearing around the office on Monday, and seemed to be there almost every single day. Draco had such a hard time focusing as it was, and Harry threw him completely off track each time he made his presence known. He always waved at Draco, sometimes greeted him, but Draco mostly just felt eyes boring into him while he worked. Harry was always gone as quickly as he appeared, too. 

Draco wondered why Harry wasn’t out in the field doing his job instead of poking around their office. He had to have other things to do that were more important. Yet Harry always showed up, around lunchtime, and watched Draco from the corner of the room. Then he was gone.

Draco arrived at the pub at 6:45 Friday night, and picked the same table. This time, he ordered a different drink and ordered Harry the same whiskey. Harry showed up at 7:15, this time in blue, and proceeded to throw everything off.

“You look good,” Harry said, studying Draco’s crisp white dress shirt and the way he sat in his chair, his back straight and his face completely unreadable. 

“Thank you,” Draco said, throwing his entire drink back in less than a minute. He would need more alcohol to deal with Harry today.

“I don’t blame you for that, honestly. This week was a wash,” Harry said, doing the same with his drink. He went and ordered two more rounds for each of them.

“I would say this week was a waste of time for you, since you were in my office most of the time,” Draco said, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

“Oh, I was just in the area,” Harry said, shrugging. Draco knew he was lying, and he didn’t press any further. “Did you know that you work like a robot? You know what a robot is, right?”

“Yes, I know what a robot is. And I will take that as a compliment. They’re very efficient,” Draco said, his facial expression remaining the same. Harry didn’t see his bouncing knee under the table.

“It was meant that way,” Harry replied, smirking again. 

It was then that Draco made the connection. The way Harry was sitting back in his chair, the way he was complimenting Draco--it all made sense.

Harry was flirting with him. Shamelessly. Draco pretended not to notice. 

It wasn’t like Draco hadn’t been flirted with before. He never reciprocated, but somehow managed to attract attention from some men. He hoped he wasn’t giving off a vibe, but figured it was just the way he looked. He knew he was fit, and he knew he was at his most attractive. He didn’t think it mattered, because Harry looked ten times better than he did, even with that stupid cowlick. Harry was probably just lonely and desperate. 

“Do you still run with the same lot?” Draco asked, eager to switch the discussion to something less dangerous.

“Of course. Ron and Hermione are my family. Hermione is always getting on to me. She tells me I need to find a hobby,” Harry said, a genuine smile on his face. Draco knew he was fond of them. Harry was a selfless person, and gave much. At least, that’s how Draco had seen him.

“Don’t they have hard feelings over you and the Weasley girl?” Draco asked.

Ginny and Harry’s separation as a couple had been publicized. They were apparently still friendly, but Harry had been the one to leave. From what Draco knew of Ginny, she could handle it. She would be more than okay. Harry seemed to be the more fragile in this case.

“They did at first. It was hard. I really miss her sometimes, but I couldn’t do it. And she understands,” Harry said, looking down at his glass.

“It’s better to not string someone along,” Draco said, trying to lighten the mood. “You did the right thing, you know. That’s your specialty.”

Harry barked out a laugh at this, looking back up at Draco quizzically. “You think so?”

“Well, I watched you save the world six years ago, if you remember that.” Draco offered a small smile as an apology for bringing up a sore subject.

“Ah, yes, what fun that was. I even died,” Harry said, looking somewhat sad as he thought back on the time. “I’m glad you see it that way.”

Draco was lost in his own thoughts now, wondering when Harry would bring up his part in the war. He wished he could take it back every day. It was like a cloud that hung over him. He knew he’d have to pay the price eventually.

“Draco, it’s been six years since we left Hogwarts. It’s been that long since the war,” Harry said. Draco only looked at him, wondering why he bothered stating the obvious.

“Well, that’s not wrong.”

“It just makes me wonder if we can ever, you know...move on,” Harry said, looking down at his drink again. Draco was having enough trouble reading him as it was, he wished he could see the expression on Harry’s face.

“I’m not following,” Draco said.

“You know...wondering if we could ever be…”Harry trailed. Draco was becoming agitated at him for circumnavigating the subject.

“What, Potter?” 

“Friends! I wonder if we could ever be that,” Harry said, looking up. He looked exactly like the same boy Draco met for the first time at Hogwarts when they were eleven years old. His eyes were wide and expressive, and his face looked the picture of innocence. 

Draco couldn’t turn him down, not like what happened with the handshake that day fourteen years ago. He only had two friends that he spoke to occasionally--Blaise and Pansy. They’d been occupied with other things, so they never had time to get together.

Harry was maddening, infuriating, and interesting all at once. Draco could never find proper footing around him, and never knew how to respond to Harry without making himself look foolish. Their conversations were tiring, and Harry was flirtatious. He didn’t know if friendship was an option for them. 

“I suppose so,” Draco responded anyway. “There’s no reason why we shouldn’t.” He was lying, because he’d thought of at least ten reasons before he even made the statement.

“Wonderful,” Harry said, smiling in the same way he had when Draco mentioned Ron and Hermione. It was a warm smile, slow to appear, and stuck in Draco’s mind like honey. Harry shouldn’t be looking like that, it was indecent.

“I guess anyone that buys drinks as much as you do can offer quite a bit to a friendship,” Draco joked. He got up this time and ordered more drinks. He felt Harry watching him from the bar, and wondered if Harry had felt the same way earlier when he’d been ordering drinks, too. Draco hoped not.

“I wouldn’t even know you now, if I hadn’t seen you in six years,” Harry said thoughtfully when Draco arrived back at the table. 

“I’m the same, Harry,” Draco said, not sure what Harry was implying.

“You are in some ways, but you look so much better,” Harry said, and he was sitting with that smirk again and his leg crossed over his knee and his arms back like he was lounging.

Draco’s face was a little warm, so he shifted and tried to hide it in the shadow of the corner behind them.

“I’ve grown, I suppose,” was all Draco had to add to that statement. Stupid Harry and his compliments, his stupid tailored shirt that was the deepest blue Draco had ever seen in a garment, his stupid strong jaw-line that looked as though it had been chiseled from marble, and his stupid green eyes that drilled straight into Draco and uncovered things he’d been trying to hide. 

It was too easy for Draco to begin flirting back, and he knew he shouldn’t. He knew he wasn’t being careful, and that this could end in hurt feelings, or worse.

“You look good yourself,” Draco said, sitting back and allowing his personality to morph into the old, self-assured way it had been before. It was the personality Harry had been used to at Hogwarts. “I’d dare to say you’re more handsome than I am these days.”

Harry looked positively thrilled with the change in Draco’s behavior. “Let’s not get carried away. You’ve always been the handsome devil.”

Draco laughed, and the conversation went easily after that. Draco even told a work story this time, explaining how funny Mr. Griggs was with paperwork. His handwriting was terrible, and Draco had spent months mastering it. 

The night ended much the same as the previous night, except Harry had added an extra invitation. “Next Friday, you should come over to my flat for an extra drink.” After that, he vanished.

 

**Present**

 

_I feel you in every ligament, in the spaces between my organs. You are incurable,  
Slowly killing me with every breath, every movement, every thought. You are a cancer._

Draco did eventually get his promotion, but it was too late for him to care much about it. He led meetings with efficiency, and brought the Quidditch talk down to the end of the meeting when he’d finished the business portion. Mr. Griggs was convinced that Draco was saving their department money, so he assigned Draco only the most important tasks. 

Draco was in charge of organizing damn near everything their department ever worked on. He really was the driving force behind their accomplishments, and Mr. Griggs was just a figurehead. 

It only took Mr. Griggs a month or two to tell Draco that he would be retiring in a few years, and that Draco would be taking his position afterward. It had always been a plan of his, since he was quite fond of Draco and his work. 

Draco wished he had someone to tell, but no one would care. He felt like they were all looking at him, feeling sorry, and wishing he were less lonely. It made him sick at his stomach when his mother asked him why he hadn’t been out in months, since he used to go out every weekend. She knew more than she let on, and Draco hated himself for letting anyone ever even glimpse the side of him that felt. 

So Draco threw himself into his work, which was why the office had been running like a well-oiled machine since he had been promoted. He put in extra hours and went home exhausted every night. He hoped to exhaust himself to the point where he wouldn’t lay there and think before falling asleep. This almost never happened.

On the weekends, Draco walked. He walked the perimeter of the Manor and beyond. Sometimes he even walked around Hogsmeade, just for a change of scenery. He could feel Narcissa watching him from the Manor window when he walked the moors, worrying about him and wishing he’d talk to her. He wouldn’t. He didn’t want anyone opening him up and letting the darkness out of him. He had to own it; it was a burden he deserved to carry.

 

**Six to Nine Months Prior**

 

_There is nothing for you here, only sadness. You will never be satisfied.  
I cannot be enough, I will never be able to give you what you can give me.  
Find someone new to inhabit, someone who can give you every piece of them to sustain you.  
I will always have a place for you here, and it will be empty and useless._

 

Draco knew he’d end up in Harry Potter’s flat after having too many drinks. He knew Harry would make him tea, and sit opposite him on the sofa. He should have also known that Harry would try to open him like a budding flower, petal by petal. Draco told himself that if he let it get too far, it would be painful. Those places should not be exposed to light. It would burn.

The walls of Harry’s flat were filled with paintings upon paintings, most were of animals. There were a few of Hogwarts, one of Sirius Black, and others that were too far away to make out.

“Who did all these?” Draco asked, gesturing to one of the pieces.

“I did,” Harry said, smiling. 

Draco was surprised. Harry never seemed like the artistic type, but he supposed a mind as clever as Harry’s could do nearly anything, if given enough time. Harry’s creativity had enthralled him more time than he would ever admit.

“They’re good, Potter. You should consider selling them,” Draco said. 

Harry’s eyes were aglow, and he looked like his eleven year old self again. Harry showed emotion so easily. Draco knew he’d never be that way. 

“I appreciate the compliment, but I only do it for myself. In fact, it’s been a year or two since I have painted a new one,” Harry said, then stopped. “No, I did paint one last year.”

Harry got up to go retrieve something, and Draco allowed himself to relax for a moment. He’d need to leave after this. Harry was making him nervous. 

Draco was standing up and preparing to leave when Harry returned, a painting in his hand. 

“I just want you to see this,” Harry said quietly, turning around.

Draco saw himself on the canvas painted as a teenager in profile, surrounded by small depictions of different scenes. One was a failed handshake, another was of him flying on his broom in Quidditch robes, there was another small close-up of his eyes, and the grey colour that was used was an uncanny match to the real-life colour. The last scene around Draco’s profile was his arm stained with the Dark Mark. 

There was another scene Draco almost missed, because it was so small. But it was there, and it was Draco’s face with a genuine smile. It was so rare that catch that Harry must have watched him for months waiting for it to appear. And Draco knew instinctively that it had been depicted correctly.

Draco’s throat was dry now, and it was so tight that he couldn’t speak. Harry just stood there, looking eleven years old again, waiting for his approval. There wasn’t much light, but Draco could tell Harry was close to breaking. He’d shown too much. He was foolish for it, Draco thought. He deserved the fallout. 

But Draco also knew he’d never reject Harry. He couldn’t do it. There was a part of him that knew Harry so well, Draco had to bury it deeply to forget about him. 

“I..” Draco began, but his throat was constricting. There was too much to process. “I never knew,” was all he could choke out.

Then Harry put the painting down, straightened his collar, and stepped to Draco, placing a hand on the side of his face. Draco didn’t have time to react before Harry’s mouth was on his.

Draco’s hands flew out to his sides as if to push Harry off of him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. His mouth was responding to Harry’s, allowing him in and gently pressing back. 

Draco broke away finally, disgusted at himself for letting this happen. 

“I can’t,” he said, stepping back. 

“It’s okay,” Harry said, the look on his face so gentle and reassuring that Draco had to fight himself. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Draco said, backing up again. “I am sorry.”

Harry understood, handing Draco his jacket. Then Draco vanished.

Draco went to bed, and laid there all night wishing he could be like Harry sometimes. But he knew better. His emotions ran far too deep to be freed. Their strength alone would strangle both of them. 

 

*

 

Draco arrived at work the next Monday morning and was greeted by a box on his desk. A note was attached. The note read:

“ _I hope you accept this gift as an apology for being too forward. I would be honored to meet you at the pub again on Friday for a friendly drink._ ”

Draco opened the box and found a leather-bound journal inside. It was absolutely gorgeous, with intricate needlework on the front and high-quality parchment paper bound inside. He hadn’t seen a journal so beautiful before, and he was used to owning beautiful things.

Draco opened it up, and found a sketch on the first page. It was a sketch of teenage Draco, bent over a journal with a quill in hand in the library of Hogwarts. Underneath was written, “ _Please don’t ever stop writing. -Harry_ ”

Draco’s face was burning. Harry had known too much even before Draco had given him anything to go on. He’d seen Draco even more than Draco had seen him. Things made much more sense, the way Harry would appear in a corridor suddenly, how Draco constantly felt eyes on him in the dining hall while he pretended to be interested in the conversations of his old classmates. 

He knew he’d stepped in quicksand the moment he agreed to have a drink with Harry three weeks ago. There was no going back, he just hoped he could still breathe when it was over. 

 

“Hey,” Harry said, arriving at the pub at 7:15. 

“Hello,” Draco said, his back straight and his face neutral. “Thank you for the journal. It’s very nice.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Harry said, smiling at Draco. Draco’s knee was bouncing again.

They sat in silence for a moment, studying each other carefully. Their short friendship had been shaken already. He would try to salvage it, for Harry’s sake.  
The rest of the evening was led by Draco. He asked Harry questions, he spoke more than he’d spoken to anyone besides Narcissa in several years. It was all work-related, and family-related, but Harry was thrilled all the same.

They said goodbye quickly outside. Harry vanished, but he was smiling when he left.

 

The next few meetings went this way, with Draco working as hard as he could to make Harry smile again. It was a success, but Draco always went home drunk and exhausted. He rolled in to work much the same except for the drunken part (he wished he were, honestly). Work was difficult. He couldn’t concentrate on the mountains of paperwork. He failed to hear Mr. Griggs when he was being called for more than once, inciting a firm shake on the shoulder both times. But Mr. Griggs wasn’t harsh, just worried. He looked at Draco with sympathy, and Draco hated it. He hated himself.

It had been a month since the kiss. The meetings had gone back to normal by now, so Draco could sleep once again. He knew it wouldn’t last, and Harry didn’t disappoint.  
After this particular meeting, Harry stood outside and stared at Draco, his expression unreadable. “Please come to my flat,” he said, then he disappeared. Draco disappeared with him, and they both arrived at his flat almost simultaneously.

Harry didn’t even turn a light on when he arrived, the only light in the entire place was a candle burning on the table next to them. Harry just stood there, blocking Draco’s access to the seating area. Draco’s throat was beginning to constrict again. Harry was looking at him, drowning him in a sea of feeling. His face was only half-illuminated in the dancing candlelight, but it was more expressive than Draco had ever seen it.

“I want you,” Harry said, his voice shaking. “Please.”

Draco said nothing. Harry stared at him still, trying to force him open again. He had to know how  
close he was to succeeding. He waited.

“Potter,” Draco began, but was interrupted by Harry’s mouth crashing onto his own. Harry pushed into him, a hand cupping his cheek and fingers digging into the base of his skull. Harry’s mouth was eager, and Draco allowed him to enter without much of a fight. 

Draco tentatively put his hands on Harry’s waist and then was completely gone. He was fully wrapped into Harry now, trying to hold back the tides of his longing and failing. The levy burst, and Draco’s hands were on Harry’s face, gently stroking his cheeks and sliding down to his back, rubbing soft circles into the hard, tense muscles that lay under Harry’s shirt. He had imagined this so many years ago and had never stopped imagining it. When he laid awake at night, unable to sleep, his mind found its way here quite often, wanting to feel Harry’s skin beneath his. Sometimes he’d punish himself by taking a cold shower, but most times he’d just let it happen. It was useless to fight it.

Harry was unbuttoning Draco’s shirt, and Draco let him. He let Harry push him against the wall and was grinding against him. Draco could feel how hard Harry was beneath the fabric of his pants, and was aware that he was just as hard and willing, himself. Harry’s mouth never left his, and they were gasping for air at some points. Neither of them made a move to stop.

Harry’s shirt came off so easily, and Draco felt every expanse of muscle beneath his fingertips, memorizing every path to the band of Harry’s trousers.

It was when Harry began to work at Draco’s pants that Draco pulled away, pushing Harry forward and off of him.

“I can’t do this,” Draco said, panting, his heart pounding against his rib cage with such fury that he was afraid it could escape. “Harry, I can’t.”

Draco wasn’t ready. He wanted Harry so, so badly, but he couldn’t make this mistake. He couldn’t do this before he prepared himself. They’d both get hurt. He desperately wished to communicate this, but the damage had already been done. 

“Please,” Harry said, his voice cracking. His eyes were pleading. Draco wanted to give in.

“I have to go,” Draco said, quickly buttoning his shirt and smoothing his hair.

“Please don’t,” Harry begged, but Draco disappeared.

Draco apparated further away from the Manor than he had intended. He walked around the moor and it began to mist. He couldn’t tell if his face was wet from the mist or his own tears.

He was sobbing in earnest before long, cursing himself for being so difficult. Isn’t this what he’d always wanted? All those years he’d watched Harry laughing with his friends, doing courageous and heroic things, and just being an outstanding person were so full of wanting and longing that he had to put the memories in boxes and shove them into the deepest recesses of his mind. They were now removed from their places and scattered everywhere, and Draco couldn’t even begin to pick up the pieces.

 

So Draco decided to do what was best for both of them. He withdrew, burying himself in work and other commitments. He walked and walked, feeling the weight of his sorrow under his feet. Sometimes he could barely pick them up, but he continued on. 

Harry was a ghost. He appeared sometimes for a moment, looking sad and pale, then went away as quickly as he came. He left a note on Draco’s desk the next week apologizing, then pleading. Draco pushed it into his pocket and left it there. He felt Harry’s words burning a hole through him all day, and angrily tossed it inside a small chest on his desk at home once the day was done. 

Draco began to write in small increments, then larger ones, until he wrote as much as he walked. He filled page after page in the journal Harry had given him, filling it with ink as black as the thoughts that stained his mind. He wrote everything he felt, allowing his suffering to pour out of him, through the quill and onto the paper to be locked away somewhere else.

Draco promised during this time that he would never forgive himself for allowing such a breach in his armor, and for hurting someone else in the process. So he wrote to redeem himself, and cried out in frustration when he realized nothing would ever be enough to plug the gaping hole in his heart.

 

**Present**

_Do you not understand, that you were the light that shone in my darkness, leading me to shore?  
Not any longer, but once you were. There will not be another lighthouse. I will drown.  
This is how it must be. This is how we are destined to live, for the rest of our time here.  
Your light will shine for someone new, and I will die, lost at sea, trying to forget you._

 

Draco was stopped while exiting their latest meeting by Mr. Griggs.

“Draco, I’m tired of you turning us down for a pub night. We expect you there at 7 tonight, sharp,” Mr. Griggs said, slapping him on the back like an old pal.

Draco’s throat was dry, and all he could do was nod. They were planning to visit the pub Draco once frequented with Harry. The memories alone would be enough to ruin him, but he had to go. The boss was counting on him.

 

Draco’s hands shook as he buttoned his shirt that evening, and he fussed over his hair for too long. He wondered if Harry would be there, and convinced himself that Harry would probably never go there again. His mother looked pleased that he was going out. He told her not to wait for him to return.

Draco arrived at 6:45. There was already someone there from the department. They struck up a Quidditch conversation, and Draco bought two drinks. 

His boss and the others arrived at ten after seven, greeting Draco warmly and buying him another drink. Draco’s mood was beginning to change from the alcohol, and he was much more comfortable than he’d normally be. Their conversation was easy, and Mr. Griggs looked happy. He kept clapping Draco on the back, saying how he couldn’t wait for retirement knowing the department was in good hands.

Harry arrived at the pub at 7:30. His mouth was in a flat, straight line, and his eyes were downcast. He bought a drink and sat at the bar, stirring it for much too long.

Draco wrapped himself up in conversation, not looking at Harry again. He felt eyes on him later, but he didn’t look over. He didn’t want to see Harry looking so terrible. It had been nearly half a year, and they’d both done a bad job of moving on. Draco was nearly angry with Harry for being there, even though it was a public establishment. He needed to be gone.

The men were leaving, and Draco was paying for the drinks he’d ordered when Harry’s patronus appeared. “Meet me at my flat. Please,” the message said, then the stag was gone. 

Draco apparated to Harry’s flat fifteen minutes later. He was greeted with the most angry Harry he’d ever seen, and was shoved roughly upon arriving.

“How could you be such an asshole?” Harry demanded, shoving Draco again and again. Draco let him. “How could you hurt me? You said we’d be friends! You returned the looks, you always did!” 

Harry hit Draco in the jaw, and Draco didn’t try to block it. He just stood there, bracing himself for more words and violence that he knew he deserved. Harry could blacken his eyes, could knock out his teeth and could even kill him for all he cared. He’d never hit back.

“You...you saw the painting! You even liked it!” Harry said, his eyes wild and bloodshot as he shoved Draco again. He was losing strength quickly, and smelt strongly of whiskey. 

“You are not capable of emotion. You don’t feel anything!” Harry said, and Draco couldn’t stop himself from responding.

“I DO!” Draco shouted, his hands clenching at his sides. He didn’t care what he looked like. He didn’t care what Harry saw. “I do have emotions! You know nothing of me!”

Harry was silent and still, looking eleven years old as he always did when he cared. Draco never wanted him to change. He never wanted Harry to stop putting his bleeding heart on his sleeve proudly for all to see. He wanted Harry to remain this way forever.

“I care for you more than you’ll ever know. I have always cared,” Draco said quietly, his throat raw. He felt like he could be sick. “But that doesn’t change reality. You deserve better.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone else,” Harry said, moving toward Draco now. “I’ve wanted you for so many years. Please, just let me.”

Draco let him. He let Harry kiss him gently, then harder. He opened his mouth and allowed Harry’s tongue to entangle with his. He allowed himself to touch Harry, to stroke his face and his hair and his back. 

They wasted no time getting to the bedroom. Draco vaguely saw a whirlwind of paintings and various sentimental items as he fell onto the bed on top of Harry. He couldn’t focus on it, though, because all he cared about was Harry. He wanted to show him that he was capable for loving someone.

He allowed Harry into his pants this time, allowed him to touch him gently at first, and then with passion as Harry felt every inch of Draco’s cock with his fingers. Draco was so close to going over the edge, but forced himself to be patient. 

When Harry finally removed his pants and undergarments, Draco stopped breathing. His fantasies couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. Harry was so hard and so willing.

“Please, please make love to me,” Harry pleaded.

Draco did, first opening Harry up with a few lubed fingers, then allowing himself to fill Harry all the way. Harry cried for him, and he used it as motivation to press harder. Harry was a mess, Draco could hear him sobbing and sniffling as he shoved himself deep inside, then he came so violently that he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. He removed himself from Harry and fell back. 

Harry lay next to him, and they looked up at the ceiling in silence.

“Please don’t ever stop doing that,” Harry said quietly. Draco’s throat was tight, and he felt like he could nearly cry. He was exhausted.

“I want you to believe me when I say I care for you,” Draco said. “I want you to feel it, I want you to know that I could never care for anyone else this way.”

Harry laughed. “I believed you even when you tried to convince me otherwise.”

Draco sighed. He was too tired to discuss it anymore. Harry understood, and they laid there silently until both were asleep.

 

Draco woke up the next morning in Harry’s bed, alone. He was expecting the darkness to come back and destroy now. He’d allowed too much to be revealed. He could never make Harry forget the things he’d said, not without magic, and he was unwilling to do that. 

He stumbled out of the bedroom, knowing he had buttoned his shirt up the wrong way. Harry was in the spare bedroom, fussing over a painting. It was a painting of his and Draco’s patronuses, one flying above the other. Draco’s eagle looked so real, he felt his chest tightening from the surge of emotion.

“Good morning,” Harry said, without turning around.

“I really should get going,” Draco responded, but he couldn’t move.

“Can I read something of yours sometime?” Harry asked.

Draco thought a moment, then he remembered something.

“I suppose so. I shall see you tomorrow.” Then he was gone.

 

_I feel you tethered to me, and I will selfishly hold onto you. You will drown with me.  
I suppose this is how we will end, you and I trying to float above the darkness.  
Please don’t let go, I beg you, even though you will die. And you stay, assuring me you won’t.  
I will never love another, and you will never know it. We will die together, but alone._

 

The poem appeared on Harry’s bed the next morning, on the first page of a sketchpad that looked very expensive and was hand-crafted. 

“Please don’t ever stop drawing. -Draco” was written underneath.

Harry smiled, and so did Draco, exactly as he had on Harry’s painting.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe or any of its characters. That belongs to J.K. Rowling.


End file.
